


A Short Discourse on Cruelty

by imochan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imochan/pseuds/imochan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, friendship - it hurts, sometimes. Companion to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2717114">A Short Discourse on Kindness</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Short Discourse on Cruelty

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://setissma.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://setissma.livejournal.com/)**setissma** , and her beautiful birthday. :x

**Title:** A Short Discourse on Cruelty  
 **Author:** Imochan  
 **Pairing:** Sirius/Remus  
 **Rating:** PG13  
 **Warnings:** Slash, puppies, all around and upside-down.  
 **Summary:** So, friendship - it hurts, sometimes.  
 **Notes:** For [](http://setissma.livejournal.com/profile)[**setissma**](http://setissma.livejournal.com/), and her beautiful birthday. :x

Exhibit A. After extended periods of contact.

Sirius is fifteen and leaning over the edge of Remus's bed, long legs the colour of summer caramel, bare to the knees where his trousers are rolled up. His thin arms are over his head, wrists trailing on the carpet, dirty fingers aimless, listless, curling in the air. He's grown into himself, strong and beautiful and all black hair in his eyes, a lazy smile that makes Remus's stomach curl.

The air is too hot, thinks Remus, for them to be pressed shoulder to shoulder, staring at the ceiling with sticky skin rubbing and the blood rushing in their ears. He pinches the white paper in his fingers, inhales, mouth and throat full of the sweet smoke; he feels his belly swell with a tingle, when Sirius crooks a knee and their bare ankles rasp against each other.

"My head," says Sirius, against his ear. "Rattles when it moves."

"All th'extra space, hm?" Remus murmurs, and passes him the joint.

"Shut it," Sirius grins, and takes it, his mouth sticking to a curl of Remus's hair, which he flicks away. "Nasty when you're blitzed, aren't you?"

It's only because I'm in love, thinks Remus, and decides he's going to write that in his journal, one day. One day, he thinks, Sirius will be looking for his socks, or my jumper, or a pack of cigarettes under my bed, and he'll find it, he thinks. He'll find it and read it, and realize what an idiot he's always been, always, and he'll run all the way across town to where Remus works in a sandwich shop, and kiss him over the counter; he'll say, _I love you, too, now make me a ham and cheese_ , and Remus will laugh, and do whatever he asks.

"Sirius," he whispers. "Help. I'm thinking too much."

"Fuck," laughs Sirius. "Always are." And he does the worst thing, he always does, always – he laughs like a lazy curl of heat and rolls into Remus's hot, sticky body with his own, all shoulders and elbows and little dips of soft skin where they fit, infant and perfect. And they are boys, lonely and fifteen, hugging upside-down on his bed, in July, in London, just that.

 

Exhibit B. After being afraid.

"Hi," says Sirius. His voice is tinny, and vaguely muffled.

"Don't hold the phone under your chin," says Remus, and ignores the way his stomach drops out from under him. "Closer to your mouth, you know that."

"I'm _shaving_ ," Sirius snaps, grin in his throat, Remus can hear it. "Fucking difficult, with only two hands, you know, in case you never tried it."

"Well, that generally sounds like a bad idea," says Remus, and realizes he's leaned back, telephone cupped with both hands, so he can hear it better, the way he's always afraid Sirius won't call, and then does, anyway, always.

"You just like me with stubble," Sirius teases. There is the tap of a razor against the sink, in the background, and Remus times it against his heartbeat, to know how long it takes his stomach to drop to his knees, how many breaths it takes before he can open his eyes again, how many places in his body Sirius has burrowed and made it difficult to move.

"Yeah," Remus murmurs. "Definitely jealous of all your body hair."

"Christ," Sirius laughs. "You wouldn't be if you cut yourself like this. _Christ_."

"Still no wand?"

"Still no wand," snorts Sirius – there is the sound of running water. "Ollivander's when I get back, yeah – fucking rotten, though. Of all the sodding things to do – they could have fucking cut off my _arm_ , you know, 'stead of breaking my wand, cause me less pain."

Hello, cliché, sighs Remus. Have you met my friend metaphor, and will you stay for a cup of misery?

"Oh, don't," Sirius says. "Don't even – I _know_ , all right?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did," Sirius says, his voice is clearer now. "It was _stupid_ , fine. No more lectures from the gallery, Prefect."

"James was off his head."

"Prongs knows I was fine."

"No, he didn't," says Remus, quiet and urgent and feeling his throat knot when he thinks of Sirius's voice, bleeding on the other end, saying – _Christ, Christ, that was a close one, listen to this, and that wicked, reckless laugh_. "No, he _didn't_ , you're an idiot, Black."

"Blah blah blah," Sirius sighs. "They could have found out, could have killed me, and etcetera, I _know_."

"That doesn't make it all right," says Remus. You don't, he thinks, you _don't_ know, you never did.

Sirius doesn't reply. Remus hates that he knows that that means he's sorry. Remus hates that he always forgives him.

"Home soon," says Sirius, as a goodbye, and Remus hears _I miss you, too_.

 

Exhibit C. After absence.

Remus meets him at the platform. The cuffs of his coat have holes, where Sirius knows he wriggles his fingers, when he's nervous. His hair is too long and his face is pale, and Sirius will always be taller than him, always be cleverer, easier, but never be better, he thinks, when Remus smiles, than that.

They take the metro home, together. Remus falls asleep on his shoulder. His mouth is against Sirius's shoulder, and his fingers are cupping the space between them, and the train rattles like a lullaby _kachun kachun kachun rock-a-bye love_ ; dreaming, thinks Sirius, lucky, lucky, beautiful boy.

  


References

See also under: **Love**.


End file.
